


Twenty Four (Takaaki POV)

by AlmondBlossomsTC



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, I have never proofread and I never will, Why can’t I hold all these dead characters, happy birthday Michi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmondBlossomsTC/pseuds/AlmondBlossomsTC
Summary: The companion piece to Twenty Four by sagscrib - read that first.
Relationships: Hagakure Hiroko/Ishimaru Takaaki (background/implied)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Twenty Four (Takaaki POV)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sagscrib](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagscrib/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Twenty Four](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23342722) by [sagscrib](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagscrib/pseuds/sagscrib). 



Eggs. Flour. Cocoa powder. Surely it would turn out if he simply attended the recipe carefully.

Takaaki had never been an adept cook. He hadn’t learned as a child - why would he? His father had been adamant that helping his mother in the kitchen was a pointless pursuit. “You’ll have a wife of your own to do it someday.”

And he had, for all of 14 months. Then, he’d been left with a baby and not much else, with barely the ability to work the rice cooker. Kiyotaka had grown up on the simplest of meals. There was no room for trial and error when it meant ruining the ingredients they could barely afford in the first place, so they existed on primarily the same few recipes for the majority of their lives. 

The same trap existed for baking. Takaaki could count on one hand the number of times he had tried to make Kiyotaka a birthday cake. Either he hadn’t started with the right ingredients, or had intentionally skimped on some to save money, or simply missed a vital step. He gave in and usually ended up buying a pastry at a convenience store to present to his son, then choking down his own sad creation later that night so as not to waste food. Over time, he started skipping the first step. 

Those days were long over. These days, he barely had more financial troubles than the average. Any corporation still collecting from his father’s debts had collapsed long ago, Future Foundation paid what they were able, and he-

He no longer had a dependent to support. 

The thought still made him twitch and ache. It likely would until the day he died. But each time, it was easier to move past the sharp pain. A tolerance, built by time and support from those in similar situations, had formed around the gaping hole. Straightening his shoulders, he levelled off the measuring cup of icing sugar and added it decisively. 

There was hope for the cooling cake sitting on a rack on the counter. It hadn’t crumbled apart when tipped out of the pan, it wasn’t too hard, it wasn’t undercooked. The icing was all that remained. If he had never successfully made his son a birthday cake while he lived, perhaps he could make one now, for Takemichi. 

It was difficult to believe that so much time had passed. He’d met the young man five years before, nearly a fifth of his short life. Takaaki himself was approaching 50 - a fact that one Hiroko Hagakure was consistently quick to tease him for, despite his deadpan looks. It was a mystery to him how the others had figured out his birthday, after evading any questions on the subject. He suspected Yasuhiro had accessed some documents he wasn’t meant to. 

Everyone was aging, now. Yasuhiro would be 30 in a few short years. Hiroko, secretive as she was, was starting to find a grey hair or two whenever she looked too closely. He still remembered her shriek from the bathroom when she spotted the first. She superstitiously refused to pluck one, saying that two would grow back in its place. He found this absurd, and he told her so, starting to lecture about follicles. She had poked him in the chest and called him a know-it-all, and that had been the end of the subject. 

Seeing as he’d been graying since his thirties, it hardly mattered what he looked like. The salt and pepper of his hair and stubble shifted whiter each year, the wrinkles grew deeper, and every day his reflection looked closer to his father. He avoided it at all costs until instructed to shave. 

Takemichi was in his prime, however. The young man had remained short, but he was strong and handsome enough to attract a few female admirers that he of course had no interest in. The wild hair had gotten slightly less so - though he had gone through a Ponytail Phase that Takaaki absolutely disapproved of - and he’d filled out with the regular meals and physical work. Admittedly, they’d met at a rather low point in each of their lives, but it was surprisingly rewarding to see the boy grow up. 

Frosting application. He braced his elbow on the counter to try and counteract his tremor, then meddled with the cake until it looked passable, going back over his work three times. With the remaining icing, he traced out the number 24 on top. Candles were frivolous, so he didn’t bother. Decisively, he placed the cake at Takemichi’s spot at the table before starting on dishes. 

Not a moment too soon, because he heard the lock click at the front door as the man entered. “Good afternoon, Takemichi,” he called, though his coat and shoes would be obvious at the front door. He had seen people punched for surprising the ex-gang leader before. 

“Hey, Takaaki. What’re you doing here?” Takemichi didn’t sound surprised. They’d exchanged keys years before, and god knows Takaaki had a terrible habit of avoiding his empty apartment whenever possible. One of the Naegis sometimes had to chase him from his desk as it got dark outside. That said, Takemichi broke into his apartment not-infrequently. Takaaki would return home to find him at the table with Hiroko, or robbing his pantry, or asleep on the couch. 

They were family. It wasn’t out of the ordinary. 

He heard the door close and lock again. “The Hagakure family couldn’t make it, I’m afraid,” he called again, drying off the last of bowls he’d used. There was the sound of Michi moving through to the dining room and a chair scraping across the floor as he continued to speak. 

The young man asked, from the other room, “Not that I mind or anythin’, but what’s the occasion?” _Ridiculous_ , Takaaki thought hypocritically, wiping his hands on a tea towel before moving to join him, plates and silverware in hand. 

“It’s your birthday,” he informed the blond, who was sitting and looking a little perplexed at the cake. At this, Takemichi tried to refute him, checked the date, and made the realization himself, frowning in surprise. Takaaki sat across from him, muttering, “I can’t say I blame you.” He’d forgotten his own birthday as well, earlier that year, until Hiroko had presented him with a cupcake and a teasing grin. A little heavily, he added, “It’s still best to celebrate the things we can.”

Takemichi rolled his eyes at Takaaki’s gloominess, joking, “I can tell yer excited.” His smile softened a little. “Thanks, though.”

He moved to cut the cake and seemed to really look at it for the first time, a stricken expression passing over his face for a moment. He laughed, effortfully, but Takaaki could hear the pain in it. Neither of them could hide it from one another, not after so long. Somehow, he had done this. 

“Takemichi?” he tried, apprehensive. This wasn’t a ‘I don’t like chocolate cake’ expression. This was the raw loss that was all too familiar for many of the survivors. 

The young man chuckled again, wetly, still looking down at the cake. The 24 on top. “Daiya was 23 when he died,” he admitted, and Takaaki looked away, swallowing. Of course. “I’m the first- the only one of us, I guess, to make it this far.”

Takemichi had told him once that he’d never expected to make it out of his teenage years. That in his early life, he had been surprised to even reach his teenage years. Takaaki could do nothing but apologize and sit awkwardly. It was a fact - Takemichi had outlived the rest of the Oowadas. Had been alive longer than each of them. He had reached an age that the others never would. 

Once, insensitively, he had told the boy that losing a friend was nothing like losing a son. Takemichi had knocked him down and stormed off. It had taken weeks of knowing one another for Takaaki to realize that there was no difference at all - both of them had lost their only remaining family in Junko Enoshima’s sick game. 

He forced himself out of dark thoughts to hear Takemichi take a deep breath, sit up, and nod. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” His resilience always impressed Takaaki. “They- they both woulda wanted me to enjoy this.”

There was likely no world in which the two of them would have sat together that involved their respective families still being intact. Sat together across anything but an interrogation table, at least. But if Takaaki was a more fanciful man, he might have imagined a world where the table would have been more full. Where Mondo Oowada would have licked the icing bowl, where Daiya Oowada would have sang a loud, off-key happy birthday as it was presented. Where Kiyotaka would have carefully placed the candles on the cake and brought it out proudly to Takemichi. 

Yes, if he was more fanciful. But there was no sense in dwelling among ghosts, as he always told himself. He tried to smile, telling the young man, “They cared for you very much.” He hoped Takemichi knew that he did as well. They were both awful at saying the words out loud. 

Takemichi smiled back before finally slicing into the cake. Luckily for both of them, it was edible, and before long they were both tucking in with minimal chatter. The young man ate voraciously - he had likely skipped lunch at work. Takaaki would leave the leftovers, seeing as he’d pilfered the ingredients from Takemichi’s own cupboards. 

The boy had never had good parental figures. After years of knowing him, Takaaki had managed to piece together a depressing history of his life. No child joins a motorcycle gang if they have a supportive family. He could never replace that, in Takemichi’s life. Just as Takemichi could never replace Kiyotaka. But there was so little good left in the world these days. And Takemichi was unmistakably Good. 

“Happy Birthday,” he wished him, rather unnecessarily, as the blond worked on a huge mouthful of cake. 

_ And many more. _

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Sagscrib you nerd


End file.
